


In The Nick of Time

by again



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Internal Monologue, M/M, POV Justin Taylor (Queer as Folk)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 18:58:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17229440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/again/pseuds/again
Summary: "I could kill you for doing this.""I almost saved you the trouble."Gapfiller for 4x14 and what happened few minutes after that. And despite the cold ass weather and screams of pain, Justin and Brian still managed to have a moment.





	In The Nick of Time

It turned out that Brian didn't transcend his naysayers and opponents as he'd wished, but he still, gracefully, landed on earth with one working arm. As Justin parked his bike by the light pole, they watched the Novotny-Bruckners jump up and down for Michael's newborn baby. They practically ran to the hospital, no fucks to give.

"You two gonna be okay?" Debbie pulled the sleeve of her fuchsia red coat, and wrapped her arms around herself. The snow was thickening by the hour; Justin had forgotten how freezing it could be in Pittsburgh. Like, Titanic-ly cold. Another thing LA didn't have to worry about.

Brian rested on the sidewalk and straightened his legs, grunts and curses flying around, "We'll be just," another grumble, "peachy, Deb. Go home."

"Well I'm sorry for worrying but you're not looking so miss universe yourself. You sure you don't want my help?" Debbie said. Brian rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, he's right. I've already called a cab. Warm yourself up, Deb." Justin took her in an embrace, and the smell of pepper and men's cologne stained his nose. He felt warmer, though. "Congratulations, by the way. For the grandma thing."

"Thank you, sunshine." she latched off, looking like she wanted to talk more about it, but decided not to. She pointed her finger to the both of them, "Alright, I'm headin' back. You guys get home immediately, you hear me?" 

"Yes. Now just go before your tits harden." Brian waved her away after she kissed the two goodbye, and shortly slumped against the pole. He inhaled heavily, "Fuck. I'm dying."

"Fuck you," Justin shook off the snow on the cement before sitting down in front of him, "for going on your own without me."

Brian looped his gloved fingers around Justin's neck, "My ass is wet as hell, and you want to scold it, now? Of all the time?"

A layer of white shaped Brian's hip, and Justin laughed, feeling the cold air dried the inside of his mouth. His restless legs started to numb up to his calves, yet the hand behind by his collar was the only thing he could care about. Brian kept making that circular motion under his hair, radiating heat all over his body. 

He didn't know if that was a real technique he'd learned, but Justin was glad for it. How was he going to last without him for 8 months?

"Make me a bath of alcohol when we get back, would you?" Brian said, brushing Justin's short golden locks back, "I feel the need to pass out."

"But we don't have a bathtub," he said.

The older one chuckled, nodding, "That's another thing I must change."

It was an eerily quiet night. The owls and the nocturnals skittered with muffled legs to the nearest rainbow diner, or any club, place still opened to take runaways in for the night. The courageous ones were either new, or morons, for working their bodies to the best looking chevys in such weather. Or, like him and Brian, they were the stone-headed bastards waiting for an incompetent driver to take them home.

For what felt like hours, they just sat there, unmoving. Though it was not uncomfortable. It was never uncomfortable with Brian.

He swallowed, "So you went on—"

"Why are you—“

“I’m—“

“Shh . . . “  
   
They both shook their heads, and blew out a laugh, sheets of clouds forming before their faces. "You first," Justin jerked his chin. 

"Why are you over there?" Brian said, half of his lip was lifting in the beginning of his famous amused smirk. "Sit closer." 

Justin scoffed. Pants be damned, he dragged his body next to Brian, so they both leaned on the bottom of the lamppost together, "This good?" 

Brian moved his head sideways, his shoulders shook bemusedly at Justin’s obedience. Then at once, he cried out in agony, clutching his broken collarbone like his life depended on it. And then he laughed again. "So, how was, uh, LA?"  

Crazy bastard. 

The blond smiled and leaned in slowly. He kissed him, his sheathed hands brushing his partner's stray hair from his face, and moved down to touch his cheeks gently. 

Everything bursted away again, and what was left was just Brian, at that time and at that place. Like it was frozen, yet falling apart in disorganized pattern. Even at the smell of cigarettes and whiskey, nothing could stop it. It turned out the cliche was true. Or maybe the weather was too cold for him to realize what he was thinking.

Not a second later, Brian returned his gesture, with the same intensity as he always did. That is, provided his collarbone not being touched. So they were at an awkward angle, moving in sync yet not optimally contacting. Sad. Although, Justin’s lips could feel the fine stubble Brian had developed during the ride, and surprisingly, he didn't fully hate it. 

"You have a beard."

"I forgot to pack a razor," Brian whispered, shifting his neck and bumped his nose with Justin's several times. Resting his forehead against him, Justin stared into hazel and breathed him in. 

"I'm not complaining." 

"Good to know."

Pink spread across from the tip of their nose to their ears, the snowflakes being insistent to fall. As Justin ran his thumb over the rosy trail, he throught of how different it was when he’d made the choice to leave Pittsburgh, back in the city of angels, surrounded by gorgeous people and handsome money. He didn’t really consider this one particular loss, enough.

Justin hummed, "Did I distract you from the pain?" 

"Was it your intention?" Brian said, raising one of his eyebrows.

"Not really. I missed you too," Justin shrugged, "um . . . so, LA was," he sighed, "funner, and hotter, and infinitely warmer, also richer, too expensive--"

Brian sneered, "Your use of comparatives provokes me."

Justin smiled again, "It's the truth." 

It was. Los Angeles had been amazing. Everything about that place, had made his heart pound three times faster. It had challenged and pushed him to his limit, and just when he thought he couldn't be better, they'd said, "the possibility is endless." 

Generally, he didn't like too much bullshit. But LA had made bullshitting as a 24/7 profession, and people were getting wealthier from doing it every second. Somehow that had made it more exciting, not knowing which one was your buddy or your enemy.

Sure, a bit twisted and weird, but which artist didn't like a little mystery to their inspiration?

"I know," Brian replied his grin, playing with the straps of his helmet on his lap, probably pretending to be nonchalant, “So you had fun?”

“Lots.”

“That’s good. Tell me about it when we—ugh, shit.” he grabbed the cast on his arm.

Justin told him to breathe, and Brian retorted with “I’m not giving birth dammit.” but he did it anyway. Because it was basic human needs. As Brian told him not to touch the thing across his chest, he then tried to ease his soreness by rubbing it up and down. Which made it worse. Which drew a yell from him. Which made Justin confused as hell. 

Sweat glistened his forehead, and it trickled down to the ground, where it froze with the other crystals. The weather was definitely a bitch.

“So, I imagine your trip wasn’t as exciting as mine?”

The light on top of them flickered. Brian shook his head, “Quite the opposite, actually.” he coughed, “It was very exhilirating. Not to mention enlightening.”

Justin wiped the side of Brian’s face with his sleeve, “What’s enlightening about riding a bike 200 miles from Pittsburgh?”

“It taught you,” he paused, looking directly to Justin’s eyes, “to hit on guys with both your hands on the handlebars.”

Justin smiled playfully, “Yes. I’ll remember that.”

Yeah, Brian and Justin worked well. 

It was very easy. They were probably too easy. Like mixing and matching paint and getting the colors he needed for his next project. Though, at rare Tuesdays, he could add too much blue in his yellow, and other times, too little. So he attempted again and again, to get that perfect shade of green.

Brian and Justin were no difference; they tried, and they failed, once or twice. In the hands of cancer and evil snob violinist, and everything else. Yet they kept trying, and that was what made them . . . them. When the Romans and the Greeks and whoever had found the primary colors, they didn’t just stop there. They developed it. 

So should he do the same? Perhaps he'd been too reckless, perhaps he should stay instead. After all, this was his home.

“Hey,” Brian said, jerking his elbow, “after the doctors gave me all the pain-killers they could find,” he smiled, his expression tinged with nervous. But it was probably Justin imagining things.

“I was pretty high, and the hallucinations kicked in.”

“No way.”

“Uh-huh. I saw you.” Brian blew some of the fallen snow off his black jacket, shivering subtly. He curled his lip inward.

Justin raised his eyebrows, “Wait, so how are you not dead?”

“Well,” he bowed his head, “if it makes you feel better, I think I’m at the edge of it.”

As a striving young artist, Justin had never come across a bigger, more passionate, drama queen other than Brian. It was insane, how his personality and nature alone, beat the historical poets in Justin’s eyes.

He giggled, “And so what was I doing? Was I riding with you, or on you?”

“Neither. You were on the side cheering on, like a soccer mom.” He poked the side of Justin’s stomach.

Justin caught his hand, “Ha. You could be so lucky.” He returned his move with his finger, almost climbing to his lap then remembered the wiser.

Brian’s laugh was contagious, like yawns, or flu, to people. Maybe because he didn’t do it very often, that when he did, everyone thought they had to prolong the moment. But as far as Justin was concerned, Brian shared his laughter with, or for him, plenty. Either it was mockery or amusement; it’d been that way since the start.

So it’d been strange, when the guys had mentioned Brian’s lack of joy, at the diner one night after school. But he understood it now. People saw what they wanted to see. And Justin just saw what Brian wanted him to see.

“Honestly, if it weren’t for you, I don’t think I could’ve finished the ride.”

“Oh?” Justin started.

“And Michael. Naturally.”

“Of course,” he said. Justin was still taken aback when he saw Brian stopping right before the finish line, with Michael beside him, practically propping his body up. He admired their loyalty to each other: through thick and thin, no matter what, till death do us part. And even at one point, had almost envied it.

“So, why couldn’t you have finished it yourself? Aside from the obvious,” Justin pointed at the white strap across Brian’s chest, “I mean, I’ve seen you. You could finish it.”

“I don’t know. Maybe it was exhaustion. I am still in recovery. Automatically, it did catch up, with me.” Brian said, shrugging his one working shoulder.

“But?”

He blinked, “But I lied to you. And I couldn’t make your trip to the big city not worthwhile.” Brian brushed some snow off Justin’s head. To keep his hands busy, he suspected. “That’s not who I am, after all.”

Justin shook his head, “You’re still delirious.”

Brian looked satisfied with his answer, “And It’s also the massive will inside of me to surpass every one of them, despite my lack of limbs,” he yelled, and Justin didn’t expect anything less. Brian’s hand felt cold as he cupped his cheek, as if demanding him to see his face. But he didn't. And that was enough for Justin to know.

Anybody who knew what Brian had, then they also knew that Brian would do anything to make its existence to stay under the radar. No one should ever know. 

And at first, not even Michael had had to know. Because the more people who got word of it, the more shameful he felt, and the more real it got. Then the more terrified, he got. 

And he assumed that was one of his major weaknesses: he was scared of being scared. For being afraid means that he wasn’t invincible, as people had told him. And Justin had seen it when they’d trained secretly that night, he’d wanted to be brave.

The problem was, Justin had always seen him as the most courageous person he’d ever known. No apologies. No regrets. No shit to offer. This had taught him that even the bravest and the strongest had more demons of their own than he'd realized.

But nonetheless, he was proud of Brian, knowing how glad it'd made him to accomplish this one of many achievements, in which he would accomplish more in the future. Maybe he didn’t need Justin anymore, maybe he would want him around instead.

But even if he did, he wouldn't say that to his face. He would rather see Justin go, than to stay, in the brink of suffering.

“And what a beautiful testimony,” Justin said, “and not much longer, I’ll make sure you’ll have more than just a massive will inside.”

“Hmm.” Brian hummed, closing his eyes. He looked content, and pained at the same time due to his physical condition. Justin pecked his cheek, and sensed it raised, as the sound of an engine rumbled beside them. “The car’s here.”

“Fucking finally,” Justin sighed, helping Brian to his feet. He unlocked the bike and folded it inside the baggage, while Brian opened the door and let himself in. As Justin rounded the car to close the passanger’s door, he could feel a hand held it back.

“Wait you’re not coming?”

“I can’t, tonight. I’ve gotta . . . unload my luggage and I forgot to restock before I went,” he said, “I’ve promised her to take care of it once I got off the plane, but you know . . .” he slouched, gesturing to Brian.

The taller looked up and gaped, “It’s below fucking zero, do you want to freeze to death?”

Brian frowned, then, out of nowhere, he let go of his pose, his entire demeanor more relaxed. He had his game face on and kept himself composed. Justin pushed his tongue on the side of his cheek; that was the problem whenever he got too close with him. Brian knew every one of his bullshit, and in return he let Justin know of his.

“I’ll think of something, I guess.”

Brian trusted him, maybe not whole-heartedly, but he did, and that was something. He knew that Justin did and said whatever he did or said for a reason, and him the same. And he respected that policy.

Sometimes, no questions asked statement needed to be used. Because, either there was no need for an answer, or mainly because they just believed in each other, to know what they were doing at the moment. And that was surprisingly enough. 

“Fine, suit yourself. Just don’t blame me if hypothermia comes knocking at your door.”

“I love you, Brian,” he said, “I’ll come by later tonight.”

“Yeah.” And he closed the door right before the car took off.

That was the truth, he did love him. He loved him a great lot. But he needed to be alone, in that while. So there he was, under the snow, walking to his apartment, accompanied by gusts of cold wind, and the stench of a dead rat. 

Shouldn't he stay though? It wasn't exactly the best time to leave. Not when Brian was still puking in his toilet, and to add to that, now a busted arm. Was them alone enough?

Though it was just that, wasn't it? Him and Brian. There was no more pressing matter in the way, it was just, pure sentimentality. His entire future was at stake, too much could be lost if he didn't do this right. 

He wondered if this was what Brian had felt like, when he'd thought he would be going to New York. Leaving everything and everyone. Not being aware of what was going to happen could be a breathtaker, at times, and a jumpscare.

He could come back, months from now, to his mother having another baby (not really). Or Michael's teenage kid having a stable job at the Q-Mart. Or Brian lying in a hospital bed, his condition getting worse because he hadn't been there for him when he'd needed him. What would happen to the family? What would happen to them? Would they still even work?

. . . Of course they would. It was what they do best. They'd make it work one way or another. They had made an unspoken pact about it. 

Because Justin had met death face to face, and they'd survived out of it. Probably, had soared even stronger than before. He'd been reduced to live as someone's hidden wife, and they'd survived it. They'd faced cancer together, and they'd left it standing still. Since the beginning, it was the two of them against the world. It shouldn't be much different now. 

So, those questions were proven to be unnecessary. He wasn't supposed to be uncertain. Nothing should really change his mind. Because together or not, they'd figure it out.

He strolled through town, the ground pretty much swallowing his ankle. He looked around, checking if the bus station was still open. It wasn't. And considering how late it was, he couldn't blame them. He took out his phone, "Hey, Daph," 

Maybe this time it won't be an exception. There were a lot of maybe's in this, but, as always, they would try. Because, if he thought about it--if death, people, and sickness couldn't keep them apart, then . . . who was time to stand in their way?

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed...yayyy. Feedbacks are appreciated. And I'm so sorry if by any way this is offensive, or if there is any grammatical error, or if it sucks in general. But uh thank you for reading :)


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